


The Childhood Trauma Series

by KindListener



Category: Courage the Cowardly Dog, Iron Giant (1999), Titan AE (2000)
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Gender/Sexuality, Alien Sex, Dom/sub, Emotional Manipulation, Hair Kink, Hair-pulling, M/M, Multi, Rhyming, Rough Oral Sex, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2020-12-28 16:43:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21139910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KindListener/pseuds/KindListener
Summary: !!ATTENTION!! ALL CHARACTERS PORTRAYED IN THIS SERIES ARE OVER THE AGE OF 18 AND ARE LEGAL ADULTS. I DO NOT SUPPORT OR CONDONE PEDOPHILIA (FICTIONAL OR NO).





	1. Forward

Hey, Lex here!

I’m just dropping by to detail that all underage characters have been aged up, above 18, as to not blur any lines. Honestly, any kind of sexualisation of children (real or fictional) makes me sick to my stomach so I’m making it totally clear that these are all consenting adults.

Also, a series/film/game is valid for this series if it tends to be aimed at younger audiences, ergo the title. I’m disclosing animes, like Yu-Gi-Oh! and One Piece because their fan bases are big enough, on their own. And, with that being said, READ THIS AT YOUR OWN RISK. I’ve already taken down a NSFW short, for a TV show (‘Real Ghostbusters’), after it was clearly labelled, someone decided to read it anyway and then complain that I was ruining her childhood (she knows who she is). Bit of a tangent but maybe read the tags and decide whether it’s for you or not. If it isn’t, then don’t FUCKING READ IT.

So, here’s your final warning;  
THIS STORY CONTAINS SEXUAL CONTENT. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO THIS KIND OF CONTENT, WOULD LIKE TO PRESERVE YOUR CHILDHOOD OR IF YOU ARE A BAD-MANNERED, ILLITERATE ASSHOLE.

Okay, enough of me being aggressive. If you got this far, I love you and I really hope you enjoy my garbage writing. In this series, you can expect to find;  
1\. Archie Andrews — Archie  
2\. Brock — Pokemon  
3\. Cale Tucker — Titan AE  
4\. Captain Phoebus — The Hunchback of Notre Dame  
5\. Clopin — The Hunchback of Notre Dame  
6\. Commander Lyle Tiberius Rourke — Atlantis: The Lost Empire  
7\. Danny Fenton — Danny Phantom  
8\. Darkheart — Care Bears Movie II  
9\. Dark Danny — Danny Phantom  
10\. Dean McCoppin — The Iron Giant  
11\. Doctor Facillier — Princess and the Frog  
12\. Donatello — TMNT  
13\. Eduardo Rivera — Extreme Ghostbusters  
14\. Egon Spengler — Real Ghostbusters  
15\. Fly — Help! I’m a Fish  
16\. Freaky Fred — Courage the Cowardly Dog  
17\. Fred Jones — Scooby Doo  
18\. Garrett Miller — Extreme Ghostbusters  
19\. Hercules — Hercules  
20\. Jafar — Aladdin  
21\. Jim Hawkins — Treasure Planet  
22\. John Rolfe — Pocahontas 2  
23\. Joseph Korso — Titan AE  
24\. Jughead Jones — Archie  
25\. Kent Mansley — The Iron Giant  
26\. Michaelangelo — TMNT  
27\. Milo Thatch — Atlantis: The Lost Empire  
28\. Mozenrath — Aladdin the Animated Series  
29\. Numbuh Four / Wallabee "Wally" Beetles — KND  
30\. Numbuh One / Nigel Uno — KND  
31\. Prince Hans — Frozen  
32\. Prince Naveen — Princess and the Frog  
33\. Professor Utonium — Powerpuff Girls  
34\. Raphael — TMNT  
35\. Ray Stantz — Real Ghostbusters  
36\. Reggie Mantle — Archie  
37\. Sinbad — Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas  
38\. Wilt — Foster’s Home

— Lex


	2. Naughty, Naughty • Freaky Fred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I, still, need to format this. Also, please check out Ciara Jackson’s art of Fred because it’s so good!! https://twitter.com/doublemaximus/status/1093984893338562560?s=21

Hello, new friend, my name is Fred  
The words you hear are in my head.  
I say, I said my name is Fred  
And I have a habit of being naughty.  
There is a story I must tell.  
I will tell you soon and tell you well.  
About Jackson Emanuel,  
And how, with him, I was naughty.  
He stepped up to my shop, I’m sure,  
He looked far too much demure  
And at that point I was sure  
That I was going to be naughty.

I wander up to the barber shop, on my street. I’m only staying in town for a few days but the interview, tomorrow, has me nervous about my presentation. It’s quite lavish for this town. I gaze through the frosted glass to see the barber staring, wildly, at me. A gaze that freezes me in place and makes me shiver.

His hair, I saw, was blonde and long.  
The threads were dazzling, roots were strong.  
I heard the doorbell, like a song.  
He was already making me naughty.  
“Come on, come in!” I must have cried  
And the boy looked up and sighed.  
Neater hair I would’ve supplied  
If I hadn’t been so naughty.

Slightly too excited to see me maybe but, hey, maybe business has been slow. I take a seat in the chair he gestures to and tug my hair out of its messy bun. I swear, when it tumbles over my shoulders, I see him shudder and drool a little. His wild eyes study me, from root to tip, running deft fingers through my hair, making me sigh.

He sat in my chair, I grabbed my sheet  
And, my, my, what a feat!  
To, simply, stroll in, from off the street,  
On a day I feel so naughty.  
I ran my fingers through his hair.  
In the mirror, he did stare  
At my grin with, such a glare  
Because I was becoming naughty.  
Like such spun silk, it did feel  
I asked myself if it were real  
And for a moment, I couldn’t conceal  
How it was making me naughty.

I was right. It was almost laughable. A barber with a fetish for hair. Still, self-preservation kicks in and I begin to thrash against his harsh grip on my scalp, his fingernails dragging red scores into the skin. A yelp leaves me as he tightens the sheet around my throat. The lack of oxygen makes my limbs go slack and my eyes roll into the back of my head.

I am a professional, at heart,  
So when his anxiety began to start  
I restrained this poor, poor sweetheart  
So he could allow me to be naughty.  
I reached around and, to my surprise,  
An impressive protrusion began to arise  
And I saw the shame in his eyes;  
He wanted me to be naughty.

As he pulls away the sheet, my eyes widen and cheeks darken in shame. Choking, hair pulling, my God... This strange barber with hypnotic eyes... I want to pull him to me, let him run his fingers through my hair again, stroke it, pull it, smell it. His thin fingers caress the head and I bite at my lip.

Such a rare time had come.  
My heart beat like a huge bass drum.  
Upon his lips, I placed my thumb,  
For we were about to be naughty.  
I tilted back the chair,  
Threaded fingers into his hair,  
Mounted him with less than a care  
And his hands found I was feeling naughty.  
My own extrusion began to grow,  
As I ground on him, nice and slow.  
Oh, dear friend, I’m sure you know  
That, in public, this is quite naughty.  
Here, I unzipped my prize  
And studied it with widened eyes.  
Such a crude, unforgiving size.  
It seemed he, too, was naughty.

I groan escape me as he mounts me and stares down at me with this domineering grin. He leans down, lips by my throat. With many other lovers, I would’ve expected him to bite or kiss at my neck but, instead, he takes a long inhale, nuzzling into the bed of hair behind my head. I can feel his erection pressing against mine, through his suit pants, radiating heat.

Scent of nutmeg, sugar and spice.  
Such a wonderful scent, so nice.  
Despite my dearest doctor’s advice,  
I decided to be a bit naughty.  
I am one to mix pain with pleasure.  
What a lovely act of leisure!  
Let’s go on this shared adventure;  
Where we are all a bit naughty.

I reach a hand into his hair and pull him off me. His cheeks are nearly crimson, his grin wide and unwavering, a light, airy moan leaving him. This is what he wanted. This barbershop may as well be a brothel for this perverted man and his sick fetishes.

And so he forced me to my knees  
And, as I try my best to please,  
Began my task, began to tease  
Because, even now, I’m naughty.  
I reach up to pull down the zip  
And watch his protrusion drip, drip, drip.  
Slowly, I take in the tip  
And he knows I’m going to be naughty.  
I work my way down to the base.  
That is when I saw his face;  
Lost in pleasure, without a trace.  
His expressions making me so naughty.

I shudder as he takes my cock down to the root, burying his nose in the light brown hair at the base. A groan ghosts through me as he swallows around my length. I begin to pull on his hair, again, fetching his mouth up and down my cock. God, yes... He looks like he’s having the time of his life. I increase the pace and he adapts, quickly, scratching down my inner thighs and swallowing around my cock. I’m not going to last long if he keeps going like this...

Up and down he pulls my head  
As I watch his perky cheeky grow red.  
I thought; ‘you’ve pulled a good one, Fred’  
Maybe, later, we could be more naughty.  
I watch as his eyes roll back.  
The world seems to fade to black.  
I felt his body go all slack  
And he spurted, onto my face, his juices that were all naughty... 

Maybe I’ll get that trim another day. I grin and place a kiss to his cheek, tucking myself away. I leave a note on the counter as I head out, leaving him on the floor, covered in my come. I think we’ll become fast friends, all the more reason to try hard at that interview.

Finally, I had cleared the air  
But what is that, upon my chair?  
A lock of long, blonde, lovely hair...  
I’d found a friend, who is, also, naughty...


	3. Last Time • Dean McCoppin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, I wrote this instead of sleeping... (-_-)zzz

The last month or so has been insane. Meeting Hogarth and then Annie, the whole business with the Giant and the shifty Kent fella. Still, even as Dean turns over in his bed, turning to face a soundly sleeping Annie, he feels something isn’t right. Hogarth’s older brother, Annie’s older son; Hammond. The kid was nineteen. He was legal. He was cute. Still, they had to stop, what with Dean becoming more of a fatherly figure to Hogarth and being in a relationship with his mom. Still...

In the mid-morning, while Hogarth, Hamm and Dean are hauling scrap in the yard, Dean can tell Hamm has it in for him, today. Bits of cars and computers and blenders are strewn across the floor as Dean crafts his newest sculpture.  
“Boys! Lemonade!” Annie calls from the house and Hogarth goes running. With them left alone, Hamm gasps, as if he remembers something.  
“Oh! Dean, Old Lady Tanner gave me her old refrigerator. I stuck it in the barn to keep dry. Wanna help me haul it out?” He asks, wide, innocent eyes lighting up, along with his winning smile. How can he say ‘no’?

The two head into the barn and, as soon as Dean gets in, the barn door closes and latches shut.  
“Listen, Hamm—” The brunette shoves him against the corrugated iron wall, making him grunt in surprise.  
“Shut it, Dean. I don’t wanna hear it.” He hisses, hot and heavy, against Dean’s ear as he fumbles with Dean’s belt, tugging up his black turtleneck. Dean manages to retake control, shoving his jumper down and swatting the younger man’s hands away.  
“No. Hamm, it’s important.” He grits out and Hammond raises a curious brow, sitting on a bale of old hay, looking at his nails.  
“Fine.” He sighs. “Lay it on me, old man.” He only calls Dean that when he’s pissed. Great.  
“So, your mom and I are getting together and things are moving pretty fast and I—”  
“Don’t worry. I hear you guys fucking. Continue.” Such a domineering attitude. Such a dick.

“W-Well, I just don’t think we should be doing this anymore, y’know? Like, I know I met you first and everything but Annie’s a lovely lady and Hogarth looks up to me and people in town...are starting to talk.” He explains and Hamm barely moves. “I just think we shouldn’t do this...” His voice dies down as that smouldering, emerald stare pierces through him. The kid cocks his brows and shrugs in resignation.  
“Hm. Fine. Cool. Dope.” He sighs, not looking at Dean, anymore. “That’s fine. The guys at college are always looking for a new lay, anyway. Dean. You know, you’ll be craving it, right?” Hamm looks at his nails again and blows any dust from the hay off them as he stands. “My mom is about as vanilla as you can get. You ask her to finger your ass and she’ll have you sleeping on the couch.” He sighs, defeated but resigned. “Well, one more kiss couldn’t hurt, right?” Dean shouldn’t. He shouldn’t.  
“Couldn’t hurt.” It comes out too fast, desperate-sounding.

Hamm approaches him, lips soft and pink and wet. His arms, strong from years of football, curl around Dean’s fragile frame, fingers twirling in his dark hair and Dean finds himself melting into the embrace. Before he knows, one kiss has turned into five, then ten and then Hamm’s lips are at his ear, hands cupping his ass through his work overalls. A soft breath leaves him, making the younger man grin like a Cheshire cat.  
“C’mon, Dean...” He whispers, fingers working back up his body to work under his turtleneck and crawl up his chest. “You’d miss all this, wouldn’t you...?” A nip under his ear and Dean shudders, involuntarily. The only sound, save for Dean bated breath, are metal teeth opening as Hamm’s hand slides into his overalls, feeling him through his briefs. He’s already hard and Hamm smiles, watching his eyes roll into the back of his head as he gives in.

Before long, Dean is bent an old hay bale with his overalls cast over, in the dusty corner. He’d give anything for this, always and forever.  
“Please, punish me, sir.” He groans out as Hammond raises his brow.  
“You’d never be able to leave this behind, would you?” A palm comes down on Dean’s ass and he jolts in surprise.  
“No, sir...” Dean sighs out and Hamm groans, slicking up his fingers.  
“I want you to come from just this.” He orders, pressing the slicked fingers against Dean’s ass, watching them disappear as the older man’s spine flexes and contracts with pleasure. He’s done this all too many times as a punishment; been made to come from just Hamm’s fingers. He rocks back onto the girth of them and he adds another, making Dean flinch and groan and curse.  
“Oh, fuck, yeah...”  
“You don’t want to leave this, do you, you little slut?” He demands and Dean shakes his head, furiously, unable to speak. “Answer my question.” He adds another finger and Dean grits his teeth, unable to hold back for much longer.  
“N-No, sir...” Rocking back on Hamm’s fingers, Dean finds himself needing to spend. “Please, can I come? Please, let me come.” He pants out and Hamm leans down, close to his ear.  
“Come for me.” Dean spills onto the hay-strewn floor with a bitten-back scream, collapsing onto the bale. Hamm unzips his tight jeans and jerks himself to completion, spilling himself over Dean’s twitching, naked body.

When he tucks himself away and zips his jeans back up, Hamm sighs, tossing him a handkerchief.  
“Clean yourself up.” He sighs, making for the door. “Next time you think about trying to break me off, you think about this and how you can’t live without it.” Hamm growls, leaving Dean in the barn.


	4. Of Pasts and Presents • Joseph Korso + Cale Tucker [WiP]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Needs to be completed.

Though the threat of being killed lurks around every corner, Cale has to admit; the ship is kinda comfy and he’s warming up to the crew. Preed is still as cynical and funny but not quite as venemous toward him, Akima is friendly and has actually smiled in front of him, Gune still licks his hands and Stith, if anything, just growls at him a little less. The captain, however, has just been antsy around him. They’re all together, in the cockpit, and Cale comes in? Gotta go to the john. It’s Basedian salami pizza night and Cale is wearing his distressed croptop he used to use for scrapping ships? Korso, suddenly, has some calibrations to do.

Captains’ chambers. He can’t run away here.  
“Korso.” Cale sighs, folding his arms over his chest as he rests against the frame of the sliding door as it closes. His thread-bare croptop rides up, tickling his midriff. He seems to have caught the captain by surprise.  
“Cale, what the Hell...?” He breathes, sounding rather angry.  
“You’ve been avoiding me.” Cale acknowledges.  
“Well, it must’ve been for a reason, then.” He hisses back, turning back to his laser pistol.  
“Oh, no. You’re not turning this one on me.” Cale shakes his head and rounds the captain’s desk. “You’ve been avoiding me for, like, a week. One minute, we’re having drinks on the flight deck, next, you’re running away from me like I’m the Drej Queen.” Korso sighs and looks up.  
“If I tell you, will you leave me alone?” He grits out and Cale nods, brows knit.

He tells his tale. The tale of a human, in his early thirties, and the Zindrea he fell for. Ragan was a Zindrea, one of the few human colonists that had been lost to the cosmos only to have been mutated by space and its many dangers. In short, the Zindrea were the victims of ‘forced evolution’, those who did not evolve died. No two Zindrea look alike, they can’t hide their individuality, one of the main reasons Korso was drawn to the species.

Korso landed on the planet of Llypso 27, in the spiral arm of the Chenkonides galaxy. Drunk on the failure of his mission and needing a drink, he managed to stumble into a Zindrea bar. Skin colours ranged from grey to green to pink.  
“Just a Gitis Rum, please.” He had asked, when he got to the bar, and the barkeep swung round. His eyes were a glowing green, skin a dark grey and his hair black as night. In his daze, Korso manages to put down the change.  
“A human walks into a Zindrea bar, there has to be a joke in there somewhere.” He laughs, voice a light tenor, taking the money and getting a glass.  
“What can I say? You meet the most interesting people.”  
“Ha! Do you do this often or was it just the deadish skin tone that caught your attention.” He passes the captain his drink and smiles. “You got the look of a dying man. Care to share the load?”  
“Heh. Thanks, friend, but I’m not one for sharing feelings.” He stares into his purple liquor before back up at the green-eyes, raven-haired Zindrean.

The end of his shift was the perfect time for a drunken romp in his little shack. A bed, a liquor shelf and a toilet; barely big enough for one of them. Pressed against the broad chest of the dark-skinned Zindrean, Korso feels his cheeks set alight. Chewed up, dark lips are pressed to his, hot breaths the only semi-verbal contact.  
“I never caught your name.” The grey-skinned male sighs and Korso nods and chuckles.  
“Ah. Because our interactions so far have been so polite and mild-mannered.” The human sneers and the Zindrean laughs.  
“I agree.” He chuckles, leaning down to brush Korso’s ear with his lips. Ragan, at your service. And you?”  
“Korso. Captain Joseph Korso.” He states and Ragan appears satisfied with the answer, tripping the human onto the bed. He lands on the thin mattress with a sharp exhale, spinning over to see the 8-foot alien standing above him, grinning from ear to pointed ear.

“Delighted, captain.” He drops his pants and four, writhing, translucent tentacles wriggle about his crotch. “More than delighted.” The tentacles smear neon green slime over whatever surfaces they touch and Korso is entranced. “You like ‘em?” Korso gets to his knees and twirls a fingertip around a tentacle. A gasp leaves the Zindrean with a groan. As his rough fingers explore the mess of tentacles and slime, Ragan begins to rock against his curious hands. His words are just noises, now, becoming broken and stilted. “J-Just, whatever you d-do, d-don’t put your fing...fingers in th-th-the middle...” He breathes but Korso has had a taste of danger. The rough pads of his fingers spread open the cavernous walls of Ragan’s incubating sac and neon green slime seems to explode from every crevice. A violent shudder possesses the Zindrean as Korso licks the sweet-sour syrup from his cheeks and hands. As Ragan braces himself on the rafters, he glares down at the human, eyes still rolling like fruit machines. “What did I...j-just say...?” He breathes and Korso grins.


End file.
